


this love’s delicious

by yadoiangel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, they're both idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yadoiangel/pseuds/yadoiangel
Summary: Osamu works quietly and efficiently, chopping up the chicken and the tofu and the leaves before going about frying and preparing the flavorings for the soup. He takes this time to calm down, timing his breathing with every downward chop of the knife, letting the motions soothe him, trying to find the strength within himself to go through with his plan of talking with Suna about their relationship.He prepares against the inevitable pain he knows he’s going to feel.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	this love’s delicious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunaringiri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaringiri/gifts).



> My first SunaOsa fic, and I’m so sorry it’s angst dsjklkfjfkdkl BUT! They get a happy ending. My HQ Birthday Exchange fic for Phooey, so happy birthday Phooey!

“Rin, I thought ya were coming home next week?” Osamu says into the phone cradled between his shoulder and his cheek as he worked the onigiri in his hands.

“I am. In Hiroshima, Osamu, not… there,” Suna answers, impatient but hesitant, as he should be.

Osamu pauses then, considering his words. Things have been… strained between the two of them, and Osamu for one can’t say that he’s surprised. Ever since the end of Suna’s first season in the V. League, it was like he was the last person the athlete wanted to see, and when they _did_ meet up, it was always at Suna’s whim, at Suna’s direction, at Suna’s choice.

Which wasn’t so bad, not to Osamu—he only ever wanted to make Suna happy (or at least his version of happy) and he thought, back then, that did a good job, all things considered.

Now, though, things aren’t as clear.

“Alright,” Osamu says sedately, cautiously, finishing up the onigiri and laying it down on the plate with the others, “How ‘bout I come up there, then? S’gonna be a free weekend, at least?”

“Do whatever you want, Osamu,” Suna sighs, and that was another thing too—he’s so disinterested in his boyfriend, now.

It’s something that spears through Osamu’s chest sharper than he will admit, than he wants to examine.

“Yer dorm, then? Or are ya gonna be staying at yer family’s house there too?” he continues, trying to keep up the conversation.

“When did I ever voluntarily spend a weekend at that place?” Suna asks laughingly, though Osamu knows him enough to hear the mean streak just underneath it, and the other man finally gives up.

“S’hard to know anything about ya these days, Rin,” Osamu laughs as well, though his was a shallow one without any humor, “Just wanted to make sure. So, uh, see ya?”

“Yeah. See you,” and Suna—the same person who was hard-pressed to put down his phone—hung up, just like that.

Osamu sighs as he lets the phone go, letting it hurtle towards the floor of his closed shop.

Maybe it’s time to face the music and finally confront what’s been looming over them for the past months.

If only Osamu’s heart was ready.

~~~

Hiroshima is an hour and a half ride away from Osaka, with an added forty-five minutes of taxi rides from the shop to the station and then the station to the EJP Raijin’s dorm complex and stadium. Overall, it’s a little over four hours to and from Suna—which Osamu thinks isn’t too much of a sacrifice—having to wake up earlier than usual to beat the weekend rush of people too tired to travel home yesterday, having to be the one to make the trip most of the time because Suna was always too lazy on the weekends. Considering his brother travels _considerably_ more than that just to meet Kageyama back in Tokyo, Osamu thinks they are lucky.

It’s a ride that Osamu has made multiple times in the past, and it’s a ride he assumed he would be taking for more in the foreseeable future.

Now, he isn’t quite sure.

Still, he soldiers forward, stopping by the little konbini he found on a research binge just to look for the ingredients of a dish he wanted to make for Suna then, this time stocking up on chicken and tofu and some leaves that he isn’t able to bring along with him for a simple tonkatsu and miso dish pair—it was easy, and it was something Osamu knows Suna enjoys with his extreme preference for the sweet and savory.

He wants to have his last meal with Suna to _at least_ be good for them both.

Getting a cab and texting Suna that he’s close a few minutes out, he isn’t surprised with the lack of a response. It _is_ a weekend, and they just finished most of the after-season promotions, so Suna would either still be in bed or watching something on TV and ignoring his phone. Usually, Osamu would let himself in and make food and either wake Suna up or watch what the athlete is watching until it finishes, at which point he’d annoy Suna to get up and clean the dishes while Osamu gets a quick nap in Suna’s bed.

Today, he thinks he might not even get that nap, if his plan of having a conversation right after their meal would turn sour.

Maybe making and eating food before going through his plan isn’t a very well thought out plan, but.

Here he already is, fumbling with his keys with one hand, trying to get into Suna’s dorm discreetly so as not to disturb his potentially sleeping boyfriend. Finally he gets the door open, and he takes a deep breath first before shouldering inside, ears acutely listening for signs of life.

When he hears the muted sounds of a show, he takes another deep breath, calling out an equally muted “I’m here,” as he removes his shoes.

He does not call out “Tadaima,” because this is not his home, and he’s never said it for as long as Suna’s been staying in the Raijin’s dorms.

Home is his shop in Osaka and the apartment just above it. Home was once upon a time the one in rural Hyogo, with his mother and grandmother still living in it and expecting him and Atsumu to visit at least twice a month. He even thought that the mountains of the countryside back in high school could be have been his home then, too, just beside the newer houses where Suna’s family owned one for him to stay in during his stint at Inarizaki, where he and Suna hung out a lot, and where they eventually fell in love.

Osamu thinks Suna would have been home, when the athlete would’ve had enough of the league—when he would get tired of the travelling and the living out of gym bags, when he would’ve wanted to be closer to Osamu more than he would be able to play volleyball.

Osamu guesses Suna got tired of him, instead.

“How was the trip?” Suna asks in a bored voice, too riveted by the screen to look at Osamu, or maybe he just didn’t want to.

“The usual,” Osamu answers, padding on socked feet towards where the other man is lounged, placing his bag right next to Suna and leaning over the low kotatsu he was under, cradling the side of his head with one hand, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on his temple.

As he does so, Osamu inhales, his chest aching more than he thought it would at the smell of Suna, fresh from the shower with his hair still slightly damp. He recognizes the scent of the shampoo Suna always uses—the big, basic one that Osamu gifted him at the start of the season while he joked that it was “his version of the Kita care package,” and to his surprise Suna smiled at him wider than he usually did, thanking him sincerely.

This is going to be harder than he thought.

“What’re ya watching,” his turn to ask, and he moves his gaze on the screen as well, taking in the animation.

“Someone got mad at me for not knowing this Ghibli film. Saw some reviews online, so I wanted to see for myself,” Suna answers distractedly, and Osamu takes that as his cue to leave him be.

“Want some food?” he follows up, already moving to put the bag from the konbini he was still holding on the kitchen table before moving back to his bag, rifling through it to get the ingredients he brought along.

“Mhm,” Suna hums, and then there’s that.

Osamu works quietly and efficiently, chopping up the chicken and the tofu and the leaves before going about frying and preparing the flavorings for the soup. He takes this time to calm down, timing his breathing with every downward chop of the knife, letting the motions soothe him, trying to find the strength within himself to go through with his plan of talking with Suna about their relationship.

He prepares against the inevitable pain he knows he’s going to feel.

The whole process is short work, really. There’s four pieces of chicken, two for each of them, and savory miso soup to go along with their rice. It takes him at most twenty minutes, and by the time he’s finished, Suna’s still watching.

“Food’s ready,” Osamu announces, and at Suna’s hummed assent, he brings the serving dishes to the table in front of the athlete, and then bowls of rice and chopsticks for themselves.

Suna finally sits up, as he accepts the offered bowl, hunching over the table when Osamu joins him under the kotatsu blanket, if only partially.

“So what’s it about?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the screen with his chopsticks.

“S’about a witch girl flying off on a broom _to live independently,_ ” Suna quotes, snorting as he does, “And she settles down in a big town, so I guess she knows what she’s doing, but half of her good fortune is purely by luck. Now she’s burned out and can’t fly, though.”

“Why can’t she fly?” Osamu follows up, because this is the most that Suna’s talked to him in a while, and even if he already knows what happens in the movie, he’s just glad to hear what Suna thinks about it too.

“…Because she’s burned out,” Suna repeats slowly, turning to look at Osamu with wide eyes.

“Yeah, ya said that already,” Osamu nods, because he knows when Suna wants to pick a fight, and he prides himself in not rising to the bait. Most of the time. “But what’s that gotta do with her being able to fly?”

“Weren’t you listening earlier? It’s because—” Suna gets into it now, swallowing down the mouthful he had and pointing at the screen, “—there, she said it again. It’s ‘cause her magic is tied to her spirit or whatever, so if she’s burned out she doesn’t have it anymore.”

“Alright, Rin,” Osamu nods again, continuing with his food.

Suna huffs and does the same, but Osamu pretends not to hear the “motherfucking statue,” that the athlete says under his breath.

Osamu just bides his time, wanting to finish the meal. He looks at Suna out of the corner of his eyes, and resigns himself to a fight he can’t avoid this time, judging by the scowl that was on his boyfriend’s face.

He finishes his food and puts the bowl on the table, waiting for Suna to finish before his talking. He lounges back into the cushions behind him, and he is made aware of the distance between them. Suna is still sitting up and they’re side by side, but only their arms are touching.

It’s a distance that is loud between them. Burrowing under covers is one of Suna’s habits, and Osamu is always the happiest when Suna burrows into _him_ during these moments. He could lie to himself and say that Suna’s still eating and that’s why he’s sitting up, but the athlete hasn’t touched his food ever since he got annoyed—it’s a weak argument that evaporates as soon as Osamu thinks it, giving him no illusions as to what’s exactly causing the distance.

Finally, the movie ends with a successful save of a boy and the return of the girl’s powers—even for just a bit—and Suna sighs and finally puts down his still half-full bowl.

“Well that was hopeful,” Suna mutters under his breath, and Osamu raises one eyebrow.

“What was?” Osamu asks, like an idiot.

“…That ending?” Suna once again asks him in that faux-patient tone, slow and condescending.

“No that was me clarifying it,” Osamu shakes his head with a laugh, “Why didja say it like that, is what I meant to ask?”

“Because I thought it was gonna be more realistic, you know? Shit like that doesn’t end well,” Suna laughs as well, and this one is wistful. “After all, it’s not happening to us, is it?”

“Rin,” Osamu sighs at the end of the laugh. It’s now or never. “What’s happening to us?”

“Osamu, please,” Suna rolls his eyes, flipping the blankets down to stand up, bringing the two bowls with him. “Don’t act stupid with me. You’ve been doing that enough. I’m sick of it.”

“Okay, well,” Osamu follows, his steps a beat slower than the athlete’s, trying to hold back. “Yer not one to let me keep going either, arentcha? Why haven’t ya ended things, then?”

“What?” Suna whirls around to ask him, getting in his face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talkin’ about ya, Rintarou!” Osamu says in kind, pushing back, finally, his voice raising slightly, his accent getting thicker. “Ya’ve been nothin’ but cold to me this whole fuckin’ season, and I’ve tried everythin’ I could to make up fer shit I didn’t even know I did. Ya coulda just broken up with me instead of treatin’ me like shit if what I did was that bad!”

“Wh—” Suna scoffs, staring at Osamu’s face in frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends, trying to articulate what he wanted to say. “Why didn’t you fucking do it, then? Why would you wait for me to do it? You’re the one who wanted to break up, didn’t you? Why are you pinning this on _me?_ ”

“When the hell did I ever want that?!” Osamu returns, disbelief clear in his face this time, along with the pain that he’s bottled up for months. “Rin, ya were the one who fuckin’ pulled away, stopped goin’ to the shop and started spendin’ more time away than with me. Ya treat me like I’m one of yer starry-eyed fans whenever we talk, and I can’t even see yer fuckin’ posts anymore. The fuck was I supposed to think?”

“ _The distance’s too much, ‘Tsumu. It’s shit, and I don’t wanna go all the way there and back just for a couple hours of nothin’. S’not worth it,_ ”Suna spits in his face, mirroring his accent flawlessly. “So you can finally drop the fucking innocent act and just go through with it, huh? That’s what you came here to do, didn’t you? Break up with me, then!”

And then Suna looks away, as if that’s the last straw, turning his back to Osamu and walking towards the bathroom. His shoulders were shaking.

“Rin, wha—I don’t understand. I never said that,” Osamu wracks his brain, trying to remember a conversation with Atsumu along those lines, but coming up empty. “When the hell did ya hear that?”

“Fuck off and leave already,” Suna throws over his shoulder, not answering him.

And see, Osamu came here to break up with Suna, that much was true. But he decided to do so because he thought Suna wanted to as well, and he was just too disinterested, too cruel to actually go through with it.

The way Suna is acting right now, though, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

So instead of letting go like he intends to do, Osamu decides to plant his feet instead. It’s what he did against Atsumu, after all, and it’s what he’s been doing against the tide that threatens to always pull his shop into bankruptcy. He plants his feet and digs in, trying to pull Suna from the cloud that seems to have swallowed him up.

“No,” Osamu follows him, tries to see his face, and his heart breaks a little at the blinking gaze Suna scowls at him with, tears on his cheeks. “I never said anythin’ like that about us. Where d’ya hear it?”

“You were fucking talking to Atsumu, you idiot,” Suna answers, already wiping away at his face. “I heard it. “Around the time the season started, and you were in your fucking shop, telling Atsumu about how it’s not worth it to see your fucking boyfriend even for just a bit because the travel is too much.”

There’s so much vitriol in Suna’s tone, but Osamu’s used to picking it apart now, and he hears the pain there too; hears how much Suna’s bottled it up, too. He finally remembers the conversation, and Osamu laughs out loud at the absurdity of it all.

“Rin, oh god,” Osamu cries, pulling the athlete closer and burying his face in Suna’s neck, “You fuckin’ idiot. I meant Atsumu, dumbass. He invited me to go with him to see that other setter in Tokyo. Why the fuck wouldja think I was talkin’ about ya? I’ve been going to this place every other week, for fuck’s sake.”

“You were talkin’ about your fucking boyfriends when I just left to get my bag. I came back and hear _that._ The fuck did you expect me to think?”

“I expect ya to fuckin’ talk to me!” Osamu pulls back, placing his hands on Suna’s shoulders and shaking him, and SUna’s crying again, looking so damn _hopeful_ —as much as he can, anyway—that it makes Osamu laugh. “Fuckin’ ask, dumbass. Not marinate for one fucking season! Ya made us miserable.”

“Why didn’t _you_ say something earlier? Quit putting this on me,” Suna murmurs, weakly pushing him away.

“I was scared,” Osamu sighs, hugging Suna closer, burying his nose in his hair again. “Thought maybe you’d pull your head out of your ass sooner, but then it went on, and I guess I had enough today. Why the hell didn’tcha just talk to me, Rin?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Suna continues in the same sedate tone, “I guess I was scared too. I heard you say that, but you still kept going here, twice a month. I guess I was just scared of losing that. Wanted whatever you’d give me, even if I thought you secretly hated me.”

“Psh, have ya met me?” Osamu asks, his chest unravelling with the relief, “I’m a stubborn motherfucker, and I’m Atsumu’s brother. I say shit to yer face, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Suna shrugs as much as he can in Osamu’s arms, and then he wraps his arms around Osamu, too. “I missed you.”

“Dumbass,” Osamu tells him affectionately, dragging Suna by the shirt and situating them under the kotatsu, this time like they usually spent lazy weekends inside. “You owe me a shitton for travelling every other fuckin’ week here.”

“Fine, just as long as you keep coming by. I kinda like this personal chef routine you got going on,” Suna answers, nuzzling into Osamu, and they laugh.

They stay like that until the next day, watching whatever they want and just relearning each other after months of cold shoulders and sharp words. It’s the best weekend Osamu’s had in awhile.

It’s not home, but he thinks with time, it could be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The twitter promo for this fic is [here](https://twitter.com/yadoiAngel/status/1365187525820653570?s=19) ~~if you want to spread it,~~ and you can scream at me too hehehe thank you for reading!


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